


The Light

by NateFraust



Category: The Last of Us, inFAMOUS (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NateFraust/pseuds/NateFraust
Summary: Originally posted on FF.net in June of 2014The world that we knew is no more; the law of nature is king now. But in the darkness of a past lost, The Light shines anew.





	1. 0

0

_No one really knows what happened. After that blast of light, we'd heard rumors of people popping up all over the globe, people with powers. I'd heard they were called Conduits, but most people called them freaks. The UN didn't know what to do about them; guess they were too chicken-shit to try_ anything.  _After all, what would_ you _do if you were up against God?_

_Anyways, the people in the U.S. started to take matters into their own hands, lynching Conduits, both activated and those they suspected could activate, and their sympathizers. My neighbor got shot in the head, point blank, because he was hiding one of them, a teenager who could control plants, in his basement. They buried her alive, hands duct-taped, in a steel box, 12 feet under, 6 of dirt and 6 of cement, and poured a tankerful of poison on the ground in a 10 square mile area to kill off all the flora._

_I can still hear the screams, the wet_ bang,  _the muffled groans and the begging. They kept people there at the burial site for a day, until the screams stopped and the god-damned silence took over. Fucking murderers laughed about it later, talked about what they'd_ wished _they could've done to her. I just gritted my teeth and gripped my 9-millimeter, just to keep from shooting someone in the nuts._

_After about 2 months of chaos, the U.S. government created the Department of Unified Protection to get the riots and lynch mobs under control. 4 months later, the DUP had started to round up Conduits with the help of trustworthy Conduit and Lieutenant Colonel Kiran Smith and his power over metal, and put them in Curdun Cay, up in the Pacific Coast Range. Within a half-year, Curdun Cay had more than 45,000 Conduits, or as people had started to call them,. "Bioterrorists", detained within its walls. A bad idea in the first place, but anyone who argued against it could get thrown in along with the Bioterrorists, so everyone kept their mouth shut and head down. Hell, some even joined just to get the inside track, like me._

_Due to the success of Curdun Cay, the international community attempted their own hand at the detainment of Bioterrorists. Japan and Saudi Arabia had particular achievements; the Japanese National Public Safety Commission created a Bioterrorist-enhanced branch to deal specifically with the control and isolation of Bioterrorists from the general populace, while the Saudi Arabian Ministry of Defense and the National Guard merged with Bioterrorists in the White Army to create a more unified and stronger force against terrorist organizations like al-Qaeda and capture their Bioterrorists, both for information and control._

_After about 3 years, most of the Conduit race, about 98 percent, had been killed. The remainder was detained, and sometimes experimented on for military and medical enhancements. The world had finally started to settle down when we started hearing reports of "demons" and "madmen" in Tibet. Within a month, the entire country was quarantined. 3 months after that, similar incidents occurred in India and Pakistan, and the entire area was quarantined and nuked. But the reports kept coming, from China, Russia, hell, even_ Brunei _had the same thing happening to them in the next 5 months. Poor bastards didn't even know what hit them until it was too late. Soon, people started to figure out that Conduits were immune to the infection, so they virtually vanished, dug in deep and waited._

_Europe tried to section itself off against the infection, but some idiot from Italy decided to do a Superman and go rescue his girlfriend. Dumbass brought the plague back with him, got the entire continent turned in about 4 months. The World Health Organization tried to create a vaccine, but after a report leaked that the latest tests had failed, it got swarmed._

_Africa didn't do too well itself. The people there were too busy bickering and being corrupt to pay attention to what was happening under their own stuck-up noses. First Central, then East, West, and finally, North and Southern. South Africa, Libya, and Morocco held out for a few months longer than the others, about the middle of '14, but they fell, just like everyone else._

_South America, they went out fighting. Took almost 7 months for Chile and Argentina to fall; the rest, a month. Gone by the end of '14._

_Don't think Australia got anything. Damn lucky bastards._

_Now, back to good old U.S. of A. Ours started early, down in Texas. Must've come in with the chicken and soybeans. We went down later than others; first East, then the Midlands, and finally the West, where I was stationed, up in Oregon. We tried to nip the damned thing in the bud - huh, made a funny- but just ended up making the thing spread faster. Some people up in the North managed to escape into Canada before they closed their borders to us. Lucky sons of bitches; rest of 'em got cut up by the turrets and razor wire._

_Those of us who decided to stay set up quarantine zones across the nation. Pittsburg, Boston Dallas, Vegas, New Marais, Miami, Topeka, up here in Seattle. Rations here started to run low in the winter of '16. In the beginning, we'd had enough food to last us close to a quarter of a century, but these damned rebels, the Fireflies, started stealing our food, giving half of it to the people, the rest to themselves. We had to start sending out patrols to hunt for food, but most of the time, they either never came back, or only had a few rabbits. Sometimes a whole deer. Damn,_ that _was some_ good _venison._

 _After about 2 years, we lost contact with the other QZs. Don't know if they got overrun, or if the lines went down. We hunkered down and started to scan for infection. We'd figured out that it was a mutated strain of the_ cordyceps unilateralis  _fungus (rumors were the Beam created them; with the Conduits being immune), so we managed to create a handheld scanner for spores inside the refugees. Turned out about 20, 25 percent were fucking infected, so we sent out the firing squads, rounded them up. You can still see the stains on the Gum Wall._

_When that was finished, we began to round up the Fireflies for execution, so they went all guerilla and started doing bombing raids and ambushes against us. That went on for about 7 more years, until we managed to seige their fortress at the old Channel 6 building and capture their leader, Nate Caine, and his cabinet. I had to put a bullet in one of them, Finn Rowe. Back of the head, no pain._

_Refugees from the reservations and small towns started trickling in after that; the Akomish group itself was rather small, only about 35. Got Captain Rowe from that bunch; best damn shot I've seen in a long time._

_So, I think that brings us back to now. Got orders from Mr. Smith to go patrol the Outskirts, check for any strays, forage for food, stuff like that. Wish me luck, Ash, baby girl._

_\- Ichabod "Bodie" Johnson_


	2. I: Time Bomb

I: Time Bomb

The soldier pressed the button on the side of his shoulder radio, said a muffled "All clear" into the receiver as he scanned the inky-black alleyway with detector and flashlight for non-existent spores, then depressed the button, restoring radio silence. He felt his squad members glance in his direction for a moment before returning their gazes to the quickly darkening street.

The DUP had heard reports of Infected in Rainier Valley, probably from Seward Park, so, as usual, they sent out Squad 2T1N to investigate.  _I swear to God,_  the soldier thought with a bit of irritation,  _if this is another one of Mr. Blake's stupid fits of narcissism, I'm going to-_

"Help!" The hoarse shriek shattered his train of thought. His men looked back at him for a moment, a glint of fear showing in the darkened eyes.

Hoisting his M4, he waved F2, J8, and B5 forward silently, then directed Q8 and R7 behind him, and A4 and B7 on his sides, forming an arrowhead formation. The squad stalked forward cautiously, but quickly, sidestepping shards of glass and the occasional brick, as the cries of "help me" grew louder. They heard footsteps drawing closer, and tensed, stopping and settling into their positions.

A few moments later, a rail-thin woman appeared, dressed in a black jumpsuit two sizes too big and zipped up to the neck, a pair of tattered khaki dress slacks, and worn grey converses, cheeks stained with blood and hazel eyes full of fear. Seeing the squad, she sped up, angling for the soldier in the middle. She jumped and wrapped her arms around him. "R! You've got to help me, they're -"

She froze as a series of croaks filled the air, followed shortly after by inhuman groans and screams. A horde of nine runners burst into the street, led by six clickers. One of the runners looked around for a moment, then, spotting the squad and petrified woman, let out an agonized scream and rushed towards them. The entire horde followed the deviation, moving at shocking speeds.

The squad fired in a slow, constant pulse, mowing down the entire first row, then the second. The downed clickers let out a stream of loud snapping sounds before quieting with a final series of clicks and settling.

A quiet sob escaped the jumpsuit woman, who gripped the lead soldier's neck all the tighter. She began to babble, "I'm so sorry, I was just going for a walk, and… oh, God!"

"We're clear," the soldier said into the chattering speaker. "You, move up," he ordered the three in front and two in back, pointing to the street ahead. "Harper, Connell, with me."

Gently prying the woman's arms off of his neck, the soldier let her down slowly. Crouching to her level, he removed his helmet and gas mask and put them aside.

"Annie, what are you  _doing_  here?" he demanded softly, putting a gloved hand on the woman's face and wiping away the crimson. "You know curfew's 30 minutes before sundown."

"I'm so sorry," she apologized again, quieter this time and eyes downcast. "I just…"

"Wait, I need to scan you."

"What for?" she questioned, wide eyes looking up into his cocoa own. "I'm clean, R."

"Just a precaution, Annie."

"No," she refused, backing away.

"Annie," he said in a concerned tone.

"No!" she insisted frantically, spittle flying. "I'm clean, R! I'm… fine."

"Captain," Harper said with a hint of worried frustration.

The captain sighed. Unclipping the detector from his bandolier, he reached out and grasped Annie's shaking arm. Pressing it to her exposed wrist, he extracted a vialful of blood and waited for a few seconds, gazing at it with anxious hope.

Red. The detector slipped out of his numb fingers, clattering to the asphalt. It was immediately snatched by Annie, who stared for a second, then released it, groaning in terrified agony.

Robotic hands, not the soldier's own, went to his M1911 and unholstered it, raising it shakily at her head. "Show me," he heard himself say.

"R…" Annie groaned.

" _Show me!_ " the voice growled, arms settling.

A moment of hesitation, then Annie rolled the jumpsuit's left arm up to her elbow. A half-ring of separated arches on her forearm oozed fresh blood, shot through with a sickly yellow-orange. "I'm sorry, Reg. I'm so sorry," she pleaded, searching his broken eyes. "Please… Reggie, please…"

"She's a time bomb, Captain, sir," Harper said, fear evident in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Captain Rowe," Connell said slowly, "but Harper's right. There's nothing else we can do for her."

Reggie Rowe looked at one of the only two people he truly loved in all the world for the last time, terror and sorrow in his watery eyes, mouthed  _I'm sorry_ , and pulled the trigger.


	3. II: Freedom|Security

II: Freedom|Security

Reggie patted his left pants pocket, feeling for that telltale lump of a key. Glancing up at the pair of CCTV cameras trained on him for the moment, he licked his quickly drying lips, then searched his right pocket with increased urgency. Grunting with worried panic at the uniformity, he tossed off his coat and quickly checked every opening. He froze for a moment as the automated announcement system blared,  _CURFEW BEGINS IN FIVE MINUTES. ANY AND ALL CITIZENS FOUND OUTSIDE THEIR DESIGNATED LIVING SPACES WILL BE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE TERMINATION._

"Damnit," Reggie cursed. He pounded on the rattling wrought iron-and-glass door. "Delsin, open the door!"

A faint shuffling was the only reply.

"Delsin, let me in!" His voice had a hint of panicked fear.

The shuffling grew fainter.

_CURFEW IN THREE MINUTES._

"Shit! Delsin,  _please_ …"

The door suddenly flew open. Delsin's pale and stained face stared at him, streaked white features broken only by the twin black spots surrounding the eyes and the almost-comical crimson-tipped nose and cheeks.

"Password, accepted," the punk said in a (rather shitty) robot voice, grin sending spidering cracks through the dried paint.

Reggie shoved past his brother and stalked through the narrow hall to the den, nose wrinkling at the acrid smell of vaporized paint. He heard the door creak shut and the infuriatingly slow shuffle begin again, but didn't look back. Didn't want to give the stupid kid any more attention than he'd already gotten.

The faint  _CURFEW IN SIXTY SECONDS_  faded away as Reggie rounded the corner and immediately turned back around. "Delsin!  _What_ did I  _tell you?!"_

Delsin reached the entryway and looked over his brother's shoulder at the scraps of paper littered around the room, so many that it appeared a tornado had touched down, the dozen or so assorted spray-paint cans leaking liquid defiance into the grubby carpet, and the spatter of rainbow colors on the whitewashed concrete walls. He shrugged. "Guess  _someone_  can't deal with a little 'freedom of speech'."

Reggie shoved Delsin back against the wall. Dust rained down on both of them; Mrs.' Hughes muffled voice shouted above them, "Delsin, I swear, if you don't  _stop punching the wall_ , I'll come down there and stick your hands together with superglue!"

"You realize," Reggie hissed in a low voice, eyes narrowing, "I can arrest you right now, just for talking back, right? Not to mention the multiple counts of vandalism."

"What?" Delsin had a look of mock shock on his face, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. "I have  _no idea_  what you're talking about, Reg."

"Oh, yeah?" Reggie pulled his phone out of his pocket, flicked it on, and showed the screen to his little brother. "Tell that to Lincoln's Toe Truck."

Delsin looked at the famous oddity of a vehicle, pink coating speckled with crimson and ivory dots and a stenciled mouth and thermometer protruding out of the big toe. "Sorry, man," he said, giving an exaggerated sigh, "must have been Mz. N. or someone. I've been cooped up in this shit-hole for at  _least_  a month."

Reggie shot him a look of cold fury, then released him with a final shove and turned towards the kitchenette. He opened the fridge, pulled out a can of Seattle Cider Company Semi-Sweet hard cider, and cracked it open with a  _ssss_. Taking a long, burning swig, he turned back to Delsin, who was leaning against the single unstained wall, and pointed towards the den. Delsin rolled his eyes, but turned around and sulkily trudged out of sight, Reggie following him closely.

Delsin grabbed a pile of paper scraps from the mountain of white against the wall and, grunting with the exertion, carried them over to a large trash-can already over-flowing and stuffed them in. He repeated this a few more times, until an old black leather couch emerged. Delsin stepped back, looked at Reggie, who was leaning against the other wall, and motioned to the couch. "You wanna sit?"

Reggie stared at him for a moment, then ground out, "Yeah." He pushed off the coarse concrete and strode across the room. He sat down, gritting his teeth at the loud, irritating creaking noise as long-unused springs struggled to recover from rest, then looked up at his brother, who was still standing, arms crossed over his jacketed chest. "Sit," he said in a quiet, firm voice, pointing at the adjacent recliner.

Delsin's brow furrowed, but he complied, sinking into the cracked leather cushion. He shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable, and then settled. Looking his brother in the eye, he asked, "What happened?"

Reggie took another swig of the half-gone cider, staring at the stained carpet. "She's dead."

"Who?"

"Annie."

Delsin's face twisted. "How?"

"I- I shot her."

" _What?!_ "

He felt the glare of his brother burning into his skull, just as he felt the wet streaks on his face. "She was- she was infected."

Delsin was about to open his mouth, most likely to curse, when Reggie set down the can and turned to look him full in the face, and he shut up.

Reggie continued: "We were investigating reports of Infected in Rainier Valley. We were about to finish up when we heard the-" He paused and looked away, gripping his head with shaking hands as he remembered. "The scream," he whispered.

He felt a rough hand on his shoulder squeeze for a moment before releasing. He looked to see Delsin withdrawing his hand, concern etched on his face. "I had to do it, Del. I-" He choked up, a hard lump settling in his throat, before swallowing and whispering, "I have to keep you alive, keep you- secure."

"I know."

Reggie averted his gaze and stared at a freshly stained spot of blackish purple on the formerly cream carpet, which was now more of a khaki color from all the spilt paint over the past 5 years. He heaved a sigh and pushed himself up from the couch. "I'm going to bed."

"Okay, Reg, Night."

Reggie started walking towards the hallway, then turned and looked at Delsin, who was a bit preoccupied with a spray-paint can. "Delsin."

"Yeah?" Delsin looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Tomorrow, you're coming with me to the Station," he said gravely, face hardening.

"What?!  _No!_ "

" _Yes_ ," Reggie barked, "you  _are_. You yourself said you've been 'cooped up in this shit-hole for at least a month.' It'd do you some good to get fresh air on your face. Speaking of which, you should wash it."

He turned around and walked towards his bedroom. He opened the door, slipped inside, and was about to close up for the night when he heard Delsin mutter, "Shit. Me and my big mouth. Screw you, Reg. Just _trying to assert my talent_ here. Ah, well, no tagging tomorrow, I guess. He's right, though; I do need to get this fucking shit off my face."


	4. III: Escape (Monster)

III: Escape (Monster)

Delsin stared out the ballistic glass window, watching the golden-brown clouds below him speed past. He clenched his teeth as the retrofitted scramjet engine under the G-BOAG Concorde sent out another vibration, trying to keep the shaking to a minimum.

Reggie had managed to get them onto the earliest transport to Curdun Cay through a lot of deal-making and weight-pulling; it left at around 6:40 in the morning. There were protesters outside the former SeaTac airport, now the main transport hub for the D.U.P. forces in Seattle. A few members of the team escorting the brothers chucked tear gas, but that only gave the crowd more incentive to riot. It was bricks and bottles at first, but one  _idiot_  had the idea of tossing a Molotov at them. The people got slaughtered, bullets ripping through them like paper.

In the end, the body count was high; for every D.U.P. soldier who lived, there were at least three to four protesters dead. Things from then on were rushed, so much so that they were prepping the jet for takeoff at 7:15. Delsin guessed the fuckers didn't want to stay for the same thing to happen again. By 7:20, the Concorde was cruising at Mach 4, fifteen kilometers above the ground, and making good time on its ETA of eleven minutes.

That was five minutes ago. He'd felt like puking three minutes in from the g-forces, but one look from Reggie, and he swallowed it.

The pilot's voice came on over the intercom, crackling at first, then smoothing out. "Alright, folks, we're going in hot. Put on your masks; this could get a bit rough."

Delsin tore his eyes away from the panel and started rummaging through his backpack for his gas mask. Finally finding it at the bottom of the main compartment under his 1911 and holster, he started strapping it to his face, then stopped, checked it over for cracks, and put it back on. The hazy glare of the early morning light through the warped lenses highlighted the soldiers across from him in a glow of creamy white. One of them, dressed in an old black winter coat, pointed first at his respirator, then at Delsin.

Delsin nodded at his brother, then stiffened as the pilot said, "We've begun our final descent. Brace for puffballs."

Almost immediately, the cabin started browning, as thousands of spores from the clouds outside slipped through the aged fuselage and began to fill the Concorde. Delsin started taking short, jerky breaths, as the spores rose up, engulfing the team in a tan haze.

By the first scent of the sweet, rotting-meat smell, Delsin knew he was fucked.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, panic in his undertone.

Then they were through, the brown cloud retreating out the back. Everybody breathed a huge sigh of relief as the pilot announced, "Hard part's over, folks. Curdun Cay straight ahead." Everybody but one.

* * *

Reggie shot his brother a concerned glance as he stepped off the ramp and onto the icy helipad at Curdun Cay Penitentiary. Delsin looked- no, not pale, not dead, more like drained. He swayed at the top of the airstair, like he was about to break into a million flaky pieces. Maybe it was a trick of the morning light, but Reggie could've sworn he was crying.

"Delsin," he whispered fiercely, embarrassed by the stares from his men. "C'mon, let's go."

Delsin stared at him for a moment, eyes shining, before taking a shaky step forward, then another, until he finally rushed down the stairs to the concrete.

Reggie looked at his team and waved them forward, giving him and Delsin a few feet of privacy. "What was that about?" he muttered in an irritated tone.

Delsin sniffled, then rubbed his face with a jacket sleeve and shook his head. "It's… it's nothing, Reg. Don't worry about it."

"Bullshit," Reggie retorted sharply. "You're my brother, and my only family. It's my  _job_  to worry about you, and right now, you're starting to give me a reason to."

"It's  _nothing_ , Reggie." Reggie was startled by the sudden dark streak in his brother's normally sarcastic, happy-go-lucky voice. "Now, could you just  _leave it alone_?"

Reggie was about to say something when an enthused voice interrupted- "Captain Rowe, how nice of you to join us. Ah, and I see you've brought the delinquent brother."

Delsin's head snapped up at the last arrogant, London-accented comment. He took a step forward, face darkening further, when Reggie stuck out an arm.

"Not now, bro," Reggie muttered. "I'll deal with Mr. Smith; just stay put."

Delsin shot his brother a look of irritation, then stepped back, staring at Smith. Reggie turned to see his superior returning the stare through frost-encrusted ski goggles, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Sir," Reggie gritted out, bowing his head slightly.

"At ease, Rowe," Smith responded, waving his hand dismissively, the smirk shifting into a mocking smile. "God, lighten up a bit, will you? So serious, all the damn time!"

"Yes, sir." Reggie's mouth remained set in a firm line.

Smith sighed; shaking his head, he turned back to the entrance and lifted his black gloved hand. The snow remained unchanged for a few moments, then a thin black line appeared a few feet away, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the air. The sound grew with the darkness, until, finally, it stopped.

Smith turned back to the Rowes, mock grin wide. "Let's get inside, shall we?"

* * *

 Delsin walked forward in a haze, mind in a million different directions at once.

 _He'll find out, you know,_ a derisive voice sounded in his mind.  _Reggie'll find out, and he'll have to kill you. Just like Annie. Just like Betty._

"Shut up," he muttered, eyes observing the floor passing by his shuffling feet.

"Excuse me?"

Delsin looked up to see Smith staring at him intently. His head was tilted slightly, giving the commander's posture a Joker-like vibe, despite the goggles perched on his head. The tin sheets above the entourage trembled slightly.

"Nothing."

"Nothing…?"

Delsin cursed Smith under his breath. "Nothing,  _sir_. Just talking to myself."

"Hmmm," Smith murmured, head straightening. "Seems like you've been doing that quite often now. Captain?"

Reggie glared at Delsin irritatedly before turning back to his commander and responding: "He stopped doing this years ago. The last I remember… We'd lost our godmother, Betty."

"Ah, I see," Smith said, nodding. "What about your parents? Surely they wouldn't have left you with someone who was incapable of caring for you."

"It wasn't our parents who left us, sir," Regge replied, eyes darkening. "Just our dad. Our mother was one of the first to turn."

"And what happened to her?"

"Sir, if I'm correct, you  _already_ -"

"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "I've read your file, but please,  _indulge_  me."

Reggie let out a heavy sigh, then continued. "She was working at the Humane Society when the outbreak occurred. One of…  _them_  broke in, started biting people, animals, anything in reach. It scratched her." He paused, shuddered. "We didn't know… we didn't  _know_ …"

Smith bowed his head for a moment, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand. Delsin clenched his fists. What right did this guy have prying into their lives? He cleared his throat, trying to keep from spitting out a biting retort, when Smith spoke again: "None of us did. No one."

Delsin swallowed, sensing the fragility of the situation. Reggie's face was streaked with tears that had slipped out with the recollections. Smith had a far away look in his eyes, and his face was twisted in agonized sadness.

Then, sighing, Smith rubbed his eyes, then turned back and trudged forward, hands in his coat pockets and head high.

* * *

Smith gestured at the door ahead, walking forward with a renewed stride as the slab of rusted iron scraped over the entourage.

Reggie's eyes squinted, as they always did when they entered the brightly-lit holding cells. Most of the cells were empty, steel-reinforced walls marked blue and gold from the previous "cleansing cycle". Luckily, he hadn't ever been in the area when the operation commenced, but he'd heard the screaming on the tapes.

Delsin shuffled along, glancing at the cells for a few moments before moving on.  _Something happened to him on the plane_ , Reggie thought, eyes narrowing on the crow emblem emblazoned on the back of his brother's jean vest.  _I don't know what it was, or why, but_ something _had to have happened._

"Delsin."

His brother paid no attention to him.

_"Delsin."_

Still nothing.

"Captain Rowe."

Reggie turned to Smith,seeing that he had pulled ahead of the detail escorting them. "Sir-"

"Quiet, Captain," Smith said in a low tone. "Now, I know that you're a bit smarter than you give yourself credit for. Tell me: what do you think happened to Delsin? And please, don't tell me  _nothing_ , or else I'll have to gut you and shut your brother up."

Reggie drew in a shaky breath, twisted to look at Delsin, who was still walking forward, head down, then turned back. "I think-" He swallowed, trying to keep the lump of fear out of his mouth. "I think he's infected."

* * *

Delsin gritted his teeth and tried to think of something, anything other than the sweet taste on his tongue and the tickling feeling in his chest. He was so caught up in his yellow-streaked thoughts that when he heard a loud shout of " 'ey, you! Jean guy!", he leapt back, eyes wide and darting, panting for breath.

He eventually settled on the cell about four cells away from him. A hand was pressed against the dirty brown glass, shadows turning the area the color of muddy clay.

Delsin stepped forward cautiously, looking around for observers. Seeing none, he approached the shade. "Who are you?" he whispered.

The hand wiped at the grime obscuring it, leaving long scratches and revealing a horrific sight: a bald man, grin missing a few well-needed teeth, and worst of all, whitish bumps above his left eyebrow.

Delsin stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet, before his back pressed up against the adjacent (and thankfully empty) cell.

" 'ey man, chill, chill!" The bald man chuckled, short and nervous . "I ain't gonna do nothin'; just want someone to talk to."

"Bullshit."

"Naw, man, it's the truth. You got any idea how little people time I get?" He snorted, holding up his hands. At second glance, Delsin could see that they were covered in thousands of dark grey plates that were constantly flaking off and just as quickly replaced. He also noticed the number  _601598_  imprinted on the left side of his orange jumpsuit. "The last person that was here… well, he was a bit of a downer. Always blubberin' on and on about how this whole shitstorm was our 'punishment'." He accentuated the last word with air quotes. "Guy musta been some pastor before. I think they had t' toss him out; too much of an annoyance."

Delsin shivered, imagining the biting cold, the frost that settled on unprotected places. "Shit," he said.

"Damn straight." 601598 chewed on his cheek for a bit. "Y'know, I'm surprised they let civvies in here."

"Now, don' get offended, man," he said quickly as Delsin's hands started to clench. "It's just…for the life o' me, I ain't never seen another human being who'd want ta talk wit' the likes o'  _me_."

"Yeah, well, same goes for me, man." Delsin rubbed the back of his neck. "Turns out, nobody's got the time for an old small-town delinquent."

"Yeah, I hear ya. Speakin' of which, how'd you get here?"

"Ummm…" Delsin floundered for a moment, mind stuck between telling this total stranger about Reggie and what'd happened to him, or-

"Delsin!"

He froze. Reggie sounded pretty close, at least ten feet away. Delsin could hear his footsteps echoing through the massive arena. He considered his options for a moment, then, settling on a course of action, cleared his throat.

"Delsin!" The footsteps were closer now, faster.

"Who's that?" 601598 moved around, trying to get a better view of the hallway, then eventually settled for the limited area of view the cramped decontamination cell provided, sighing in frustration.

Reggie rounded the corner of the leftmost cell, followed closely by Smith. Spotting his younger brother looking at him, he started jogging. "Where the  _hell_  were you?!"

"I- I was-" Delsin tried to speak, but his brother's blazing gaze petrified him like a fraternal Medusa.

Smith, ignoring the brothers, looked at 601598, who shrank back under his curious glance. "Mr. Daughtry, you haven't been spreading  _rumors_  now, have you?"

"N- No, sir," Daughtry stammered, eyes wide.

"Good, good." Smith skirted around the one-sided argument and walked up to the decontamination cell's grimy side. He rested his palm on the pane of glass, then leaned against it, sighing. "That's  _very_  good."

He started to curl his fingers, slow and precise. Daughtry gritted his teeth and stared into his captor's eyes, trying to keep from crying out as warm crimson droplets started to splatter on the cold concrete floor.

"Hey!"

Smith blew out through his lips, then turned to stare irritatedly at Delsin, who was looking on with a mix of fear and defiant rage in his eyes. "What do you want, Mr. Rowe?" he asked in a slightly exasperated tone.

"What the hell do you think you're  _doing_?" Delsin gestured to the steadily growing puddle of blood on the cell floor. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

Reggie tried to rest a hand on his brother's shoulder, but he shook him off, growling "Don't  _touch_  me."

Smith chuckled. "He didn't need to,  _Delsin_. Do you have any idea what the people in the quarantine zone would do to this guy? There wouldn't be anything to salvage for a cure."

"The hell d' you mean  _a cure_?"

Smith sighed, shaking his head at the brothers. "You didn't tell him, Reginald?" Looking at the elder's downcast expression, he scoffed. "Of course not. Well, Delsin, we've been working on a cure to this-" He sucked in air through clenched teeth. "- this  _fucking_  infection for nigh on 18 years, and not one  _blip_  of success- until now." He gestured to Daughtry, who was looking on with a pale face and drooping eyelids, hands dripping blood. "We've had a bit of trouble isolating the specific factors that make him immune, but I'm fairly certain-"

"What?" Seething, Delsin stalked up to Smith. "You're fairly certain that  _what_ , you'll get a cure soon?" He sneered. "And what makes you think," he continued, interrupting the director's response, " that I'll believe you when you tell me that you'll give it to the people? Huh? You can't, can you? Without fear, without the walls, you're just like the rest of us. Only difference is, the people will rip you apart. Me?" He gestured to himself. "I'll be the one watching from the sidelines."

Smith chuckled, a black sound. "Oh, Delsin." His chuckling increased, bringing tears to his eyes and a scowl to Delsin's face. "You disappoint me."

He brought up his hand, clenching it into a fist as Daughtry screeched and cursed in rage and agony. In a flash, he withdrew a tarnished grey Walther PK380 with his other hand and touched it to Delsin's forehead. His face hard, Smith drew back the slide with a  _click_ , the metal moving as if it had a mind of its own. "Captain Rowe, scan him."

* * *

Reggie froze. Smith glanced at him, face a twisted mask of expectation.

"Well?" The commander raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to do it, or should I blow your brother's brains all over the floor?"

Reggie opened his mouth, then shut it, eyes wide. His gaze slid to the back of Delsin's head, focusing on the tuft of hair poking out from beneath the maroon beanie. He managed a step forward, sweat beading his palms and neck, and with shaking hands began withdrawing the scanner.

Smith sighed, shaking his head. "Clearly, you need some incentive." He pulled the trigger.

" _No!_ " Reggie practically pounced on Delsin, hitting him across the back and eliciting a grunt from both of them. Smith stepped out of the way, watching with an imperious expression as Reggie drew back his arm and thrust the scanner at Delsin's neck.

In seconds, the familiar color appeared, and Reggie felt tears stinging at his vision. Life, death, love, all of those merged to swirl down into the LEDs illuminating the dirty and cracked plastic, framing the fateful word:  _Infected_.

* * *

 Delsin felt Reggie suck in a breath, and screwed his eyes shut.  _Forgive me, Reg._

He heaved himself up, causing his brother to fall off his back with a cry of surprise, then lifted his head to see Smith leveling the pistol at him, a grin on his face.

Without thinking, Delsin pushed himself off the ground, a cry of rage and fear tearing past his lips. Smith flinched for a split second, taking a step back, but that was all it took for the younger Rowe to reach him and grab for the gun.

The two wrestled for a few moments, then Delsin managed to get a good grasp on the trigger and instinctively pulled. Smith bellowed out in pain as the muzzle blast ripped through the left side of his face, tearing off wide swathes of flesh and sending chips of bone and numerous teeth flying. The bullet embedded itself into Daughtry's cell wall, causing the man to scramble back in fear.

Smith released the pistol with a curse, hand flying to the damaged side of his face. He glared at Delsin with his good eye, ebony iris glittering with golden shards. "You idiot," he snarled. "Do you have any  _idea_  what you've  _done_?"

"Yeah," Delsin responded, pointing the gun at the older man. "I think I've got an idea."

He shot a glance at Reggie, who was staring at him with a mix of horror and expectation. His eyes fell to the emerald screen of the scanner, the blinking scarlet letters. Delsin looked back up to see his brother scooting away slowly, face pale and mouth gulping air silently.

"Reggie…" Delsin approached him slowly, tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans and putting his hands up in a placating manner. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

Reggie's eyes shifted ever so slightly, to Delsin's left. He half-turned his head as a short  _hsss_  and a  _clck_ polluted the air, to see Smith pulling his hand away from a battered transceiver, face a grimace of pain, fear, and slight satisfaction.

Delsin aimed a shot at Smith's hand and squeezed the trigger. "Don't move!" he shouted as the commander jerked his hand away from the shower of sparks.

Smith chuckled again, shaking his head. "You really are an idiot, aren't you?" He gestured to his right.

Delsin followed his pointing to an empty cell.  _Oh, fuck._

Suddenly, there was a pressure on his windpipe, and a putrid smell of unwashed body odor, gunsmoke, and spores washed over him. The pistol was wrenched from his hand, and a foul-smelling voice said, "Well, been a  _while_  since I've been in one of  _these_."

* * *

 Reggie scrambled to his feet, shooting a glance at Smith, who was staring at Daughtry and Delsin with a careful expression.

"Now," Daughtry said, pale lips pulled back to show brownish-yellow teeth, "how's about we get down t' negotiatin?"

Reggie's hand began to drop to his holster, where his Glock-17 was, but Daughtry saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and smoke began to trickle out of the arm around Delsin's neck. "Uh-uh, Cap. Do that, and your little brother goes  _poof_."

Reggie cursed silently, putting his hands up. He'd only been a part of the Seattle DUP for a few weeks when Daughtry was brought in, and for a while, he could almost sympathize with the Bioterrorist. But as time went on and the rumors grew, Reggie drew farther and farther away from Daughtry, especially since all of his observations had corroborated the popular theory that the prisoner used to be a hunter.

He shuddered, a wave of memories washing over him: Elias' kind, weathered face, the steel factory in Kent, the dozens of crazed men he, Nate, Jeremi, and the other people with guns had to put down.  _Fucking hunters. Goddamn animals, all of them._

"Henry-" Smith began.

"Shut it, you bastard!" Henry pressed the muzzle of the Walther against Delsin's temple. Delsin's eyes were wide, darting between the two men in front of him.

"Hank, what do you want?" Reggie attempted a step, but Hank pulled off a shot close to his ear, and he flinched back.

"Not one step, Cap!" The muzzle returned to its former place.

"Now, if you two dumbasses are done with your shit," Hank said, glancing between the men every couple of seconds, "I'm gonna be the one talkin' here."

"First," he said, tongue flicking out to lick at dry lips as he looked at Smith, "you're gonna call off your fuckin' dogs."

Smith stared at him for a moment, lip upturned, before pressing the button on the transceiver. "Stand down," he murmured.

A series of faint  _clcks_  echoed around the darkened perimeter of the containment area.

"Good." Hank gave a brief, grotesque smile before straightening out again. "Second: where's my daughter?"

"I must say,  _Henry_ ," Smith said, "I have no  _idea_ -"

"NO!" Hank shot off another round at Smith, who merely smiled, the bullet ricocheting off an invisible shield. "You know  _exactly_  where she is, you son of a bitch! Now, tell me the truth, or I put a slug in his skull." He jerked his arm back to Delsin's head

Reggie watched the two stare at each other, the tension in the air thick. Then he saw a glint out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see a group of metallic shards creeping closer to Hank's legs. He opened his mouth, and in that moment, the shards flew up, embedding themselves in the Bioterrorist.

Hank's eyes widened, mouth frozen in an expression of surprise and back arched, then he screamed, a raging pain-stricken sound. The arm around Delsin's neck began to loosen, long sleeves crumpling backwards, and Delsin grabbed at the exposed skin.

Reggie saw a flash of light, then the world exploded.

* * *

 His arm burned. Everywhere else was numb, but his arm, specifically his right forearm, burned like fucking hell.

Delsin tried to open his eyes, but the instant he did snow stung at them, so he kept them shut. Why did his arm  _burn_  so much?

As though in a dream, he heard the muffled crack of artificial thunder as a gun went off, then numerous shots, farther away this time. A grunt, then an almost impossible-to-hear thud as a body hit the snow.

There were footsteps next to him, close to his head, then a pair of arms hoisted him up and started dragging him away. He started to struggle, then a familiar voice hissed in a low tone, "Stop moving! He'll find us and kill us both if you don't!"

"Reggie…" His words were sluggish, and his mouth quickly went cold with the multitude of snowflakes settling within.

"Quiet!" Reggie started dragging him, then a voice called out, "Captain Rowe!"

Reggie ignored Smith, continuing in his task.

"I know you're out there, Captain!" Smith was silent for a moment, then cursed. "To hell with you, then! Go and find your dreams in death!"

Delsin shuddered for a moment, then slipped into a black deeper than hell and dreamt of The Light.

* * *

 Kiran Smith turned back, his mood as dark as his coat, and walked back to the one they  _did_ manage to get. He stopped in front of Daughtry's coughing, kneeling form, turning on his heel and and crouching to look the Bioterrorist and former hunter in the eye. His face twitched, and Smith cursed the younger Rowe boy at the irritation he'd caused him. He could feel the strands of gold and steel interweaving themselves, patching up the worst of the wounds, leaving only brownish-black blood and deep scars, but the damage to his mouth… that was the worst. At best, he was only able to retain the basic area of where his teeth used to be, but the attempts at regaining the shape failed miserably, leaving shattered and pointed remnants of what was left behind, and the liquid covering his tongue squirmed and writhed like a snake in the throes of death. He had no idea what had happened to his eye, but he sensed that that wound, while fixable, would take too long and require attention he did not have to fully heal.

The itching sensation persisted as he said to Daughtry, "I'm the only reason you're still alive, Mr. Daughtry. I can kill you now, just drive the bullets the rest of the way through, but I won't. I have a job for you."

Daughtry looked up at him, then smiled a crimson grin. "And-" He coughed up more blood. "And why should I trust you?"

Kiran sighed, then backhanded Daughtry full across the face, hard. Blood flew, and Daughtry crumpled into the snow again, conscious, but barely.

"Because,  _Hank_ ," Kiran whispered, leaning in close to the man's ear, "I know where your daughter is, and if you  _ever_  want to see her alive again, you'll follow exactly what I say. Now, how do you feel about tracking down a monster?"


End file.
